


Sakura Addiction

by QueenMana_PrincessLolita



Series: The Kentrikí̱!Universe [1]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - High School, Anime Spoilers, Blood, Doh!, Don't Judge Me, Don't Like Don't Read, F/M, Gay Mobsters, I should have just said that, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Manga Spoilers, Mobsters, Multi, Old & Ambiguously Gay, Pre-Ten Years Later, Sawada Iemitsu Bashing, Sawada Iemitsu Being an Asshole, Sawada Iemitsu Being an Idiot, Sawada Iemitsu's A+ Parenting, So don't complain if you didn't read them, So..., Spoilers, Teenagers, Ten Years Later, Ten Years Later Characters, Ten Years Later Verse (Reborn), This took more than an hour to tag, Two Years Later, also gore, bones - Freeform, future-verse, mafia, really - Freeform, that kind of thing, whatev, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-12-02 04:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11501670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenMana_PrincessLolita/pseuds/QueenMana_PrincessLolita
Summary: The Cloud lingers never in one place, but always remains within the vast folds of the limitless Sky. The Mist tickles the edge of the horizon, tracing that soul-stealing smile and testing whether or not it’ll be punished for wanting, each time more and more, to hover just a bit longer. Each hesitant with these new but terrifyingly ever-lasting emotions, almost timidly reach towards the beautifully ephemeral, unbelievably gentle, and so agonizingly fragile warmth. In a small country in the east, the sakura remind two very distinct and yet very similar individuals of the greatest heart they’ll ever know, the love and acceptance they’ll forever receive from it, and the embrace of the man whose chest it resides in.





	1. Prologue - Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SkyGem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyGem/gifts).



> So...this is basically TYL! 10th Vongola Gen, from the Universe where Tsuna "dies" but not really? Yeah, THAT. It's an AU for that. Also: yaoi. But that's almost canon so...XD Enjoy!

**Title:** Sakura Addiction

**Summary:**

**General:** The Cloud lingers never in one place, but always remains within the vast folds of the limitless Sky. The Mist tickles the edge of the horizon, tracing that soul-stealing smile and testing whether or not it’ll be punished for wanting, each time more and more, to hover just a bit longer. Each hesitant with these new but terrifyingly ever-lasting emotions, almost timidly reach towards the beautifully ephemeral, unbelievably gentle, and so agonizingly fragile warmth. In a small country in the east, the sakura remind two very distinct and yet very similar individuals of the greatest heart they’ll ever know, the love and acceptance they’ll forever receive from it, and the embrace of the man whose chest it resides in.

 **Hibari Side:** Hauntingly ephemeral, abnormally gentle, and so preciously fragile: at one point or another in his life, Tsuna had seemed like one of these or another. So really, it wasn't Hibari's fault that he stopped hating sakura, (or the other predator encroaching on his territory through no fault of his own; blame that damned deviant of a Pineapple-Herbivore for twisting his pure perception of violent discipline with his perverse lust), it was just that the little flower seemed so much like his Omnivore...At this point, he couldn't help but be addicted to them both.

 **Mukuro Side:** The skylark was entertaining, that much was obvious, so really he wasn’t going to be the unlucky recipient of any blame for what had become of their little…arrangement. Once it didn’t interfere with his plans to possess Sawada Tsunayoshi in any and all ways possible, it was perfectly acceptable to have the birdie flying in his field, especially if he dragged the bunny along to hop around for a spell too, (which was actually very likely since those two were getting friendlier with one another every day). The problem lay in the fact that the ever violent bird-brain was crossing all sorts of boundaries Mukuro didn’t even know he had, led by the dauntingly ephemeral, frighteningly gentle, and so ridiculously fragile tuna fish.

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 **Inspiration/Prompt:** Katekyo Hitman Reborn’s Ending Theme of the same name.

.

**Main Pairing:**

**Current:** Tsuna x Kyoko ~ (one-sided?), Hibari x Tsuna ~ (one-sided or pre-slash?), Mukuro x Tsuna ~ (one-sided or pre-slash?), Mukuro x Hibari ~ (definite slash, questionably romantic).

 **Eventual:** Mukuro x Tsuna x Hibari ~ (requited), Tsuna x Kyoko.

.

 **Genre:** Action, Drama, Fantasy, Romance, Supernatural, Yaoi.

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 **Warnings:** Gore, Rape, Victimization, Violence.

.

Rating: M

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 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

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 **Prologue:** Surrogate’s Substitute

.

“Tsu-kun, are you finished with breakfast?” The question carried as a petit young woman entered the kitchen of a modest home only to pause in the doorway at the sight that greeted her.

“Tsu-kun!” She exclaimed helplessly. Shock had changed the melodious voice as dismay raised it pitch, and at once she found herself bustling to clean up the mess at was once her immaculate workspace.

“Mou, Tsu-kun…!” A soft, dulcet voice chimed in scolding. “You’re a big boy now; can’t you eat properly?”

Dainty hands reached out, one to cradle a small, rounded left cheek as the other raised a damp washcloth to the cherub’s stained face.

“Ma, ma, Nana!” Soothed Iemitsu cheerily. “It’s only a bit of jam; it’ll come off!”

“And you, Papa!” She cried promptly in reprimand, turning to frown at her grinning husband who, in his usual fashion was fondly recording the entire fiasco. “How could you just stand there and let Tsu-kun end up in this state? Go put the camera away this instant and then come and help me with this mess!”

But the Sawada patriarch just chuckled at her steadily deepening pout.

.

“Mou, Lambo…” A soft, low voice scolded gently. “You’re a big boy now; can’t you sit still?”

Slender hands reached out, one to cradle a small, rounded left cheek as the other raised a damp washcloth to the child’s blackened face.

“Ma, ma, Tsuna!” Yamamoto chimed in an attempt to pacify. “It’s just a little soot; it’ll wash off!”

“And you, Takeshi!” He admonished immediately, whirling to glare at one of his best friends who was grinning in that trademark goofy way of his. “How could you help Lambo reek havoc on the kitchen like this? It’s a good thing that it was only a smoke bomb, or I’d have to call dad about repairs for the third time in a month! _Again!_ ” Huffing, he collected the various pink explosives from the counter top, with the firm command to: "Go put your bokken by the door right now and then come and help me with the food. Here, while your at it, take these and put them in the vault.”

“Ha ha!” The taller teen laughed sheepishly, casually brushing the building annoyance in the other’s tone off as he accepted the hand full of proffered grenades from the scowling brunet. “Sure, Tsuna. And um…sorry, you know how I get when it comes to baseball…”

“Well, since nothing was broken, it’s fine,” He sighed heavily as he straightened. “Just try to remember next time that not all small, vaguely spherical objects are projectiles meant to be thrown.” At the raven’s nod, the slighter continued with a hand on his hip and his left index pointed towards the stairs. “Good. Now stop wasting time and go hide those away before we have another accident.”

“Juudaime!” Came the loud greeting from the genkan. “I have returned with the balloons!”

“And I brought fruit, Sawada!” A boisterous declaration was heard not a second later, followed by a feminine chorus of, ‘good morning,’ by three who called him “Tsu-kun,” “Tsu-san” and “Bossu.”

“We brought the cakes!” The two more outspoken of the trio added simultaneously proceeding the greeting. The third’s girlish giggles of amusement rang out wonderfully after her response, “And other finger foods, too.”

“Thanks!” He hollered back distractedly as he turned to I-Pin, who had come running into the kitchen just then with her hair dry, but otherwise in total disarray. Accustomed to it as it was her usual method of getting his attention on mornings, (since that was when Lambo was often particularly difficult), he simply led her to sit sideways on a chair at the table. Standing behind her as he got to work on shaping it into her signature style for the new day. It took no time at all to brush, (since it was so silky there were barely any knots to untangle), and, with all the practice he’d gotten in the last odd year, it was unimaginably effortless to divide down the centre vertically shortly thereafter –a big contrast to a certain Bovino’s currently, somehow untameable nest of loose curls. A few, pleasant minutes of gentle tending later, he was finishing off the twin ponytails that sat proudly and perfectly spaced on either side of her head. Once he was done and had secured the ends with black elastics, he reached out to the carved wooden chest that he’d brought back from his last trip to Italy for his Little Beauty. Grabbing the pair of fuchsia, rose-shaped hair clips made of satin-covered platinum that matched her brightly coloured, denim shorts, he clipped one on each side before revealing his big surprize from the vast pocket of his mother’s old, lacy apron that he’d been talked into wearing since she’d been hospitalized. At the sight of a solid gold hair comb decorated with an elaborate, three-dimensional depiction of a diamond-studded phoenix taking flight in a velvet box, Tsuna’s princess squealed- all training cast aside in the face of her joy.

“Gégé!” She cried, awestruck, as she always was when given something. Her endearing habit of being so painfully surprized by any act of kindness she received touched her adoptive eldest brother’s heart every time, and made him strive each day more and more to accustom her to being loved. Her gratitude was sweet and all, but he prayed that eventually she would come to see his attempts at care as a given.

“Like it, honey?” He inquired softly with a fond twinkle in his eyes, though her feelings were obvious.

“I love it!” She exclaimed before she could help herself, face alit with sheer delight before her expression abruptly contorted with confusion. “But…why?”

“Listen to me, I-Pin,” He said as he skirted the chair she was sitting on so that he was in front of her. Kneeling so that they could look one another in the eye with ease. “Your Master and I have been speaking; we know that you’ve been looking into that prestigious School in Tokyo, and…”

He heard her breath hitch, and observed as she tensed, subconsciously shifting to a subtly defensive position right there in her seat. Seeking to comfort her, he took both of her smaller hands in his own and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

“We’re glad,” He chimed with a brilliant grin, head tilted to the left in a cheerful gesture.

“You are?” She inquired, utterly perplexed. After all, her talents were well-known and she supposed that everyone just expected her to follow along the path her infamous Master had started her on, straight into the matchless Vongola Decimo’s elite ranks.

“Yeah, actually…I’d personally prefer it if _you_ at least, could have a normal life,” He continued, sweatdropping, before emphasizing, “one that has _nothing_ to do with the bloody history of the path that _I’ve_ chosen to succeed. Fong feels the same. We just want you to be happy after all- safe and sound, living an anonymous, leisurely life of repose on Vongola dime actually, if I had my way. But since what you wish for is something a lot more realistic, how could you _possibly_ think that we’d deny you? If you wanna study there, I’ll send you. It has faculty and infrastructure from kindergarten to high school, so you’re _free_ , I-Pin, free. Free to go whenever you think is best. All you have to do is tell me and we’ll write your Master. A friend of his is a major shareholder and owes him big time, so you’re a shoe-in whenever you’re ready. Fong’s only warnings are to keep up with your training so that you can defend yourself, and do your best, okay? We’ll deal with the rest.”

And as his liquid chocolate gaze warmed her to the core, all she could manage was a tearful nod and a nearly inaudible murmur of, “Thank you, Gégé…”

“Now,” he chirped, sweeping his eyes across the gathered assembly of his most beloved people, and realizing the preparations were complete. “Are we all good to go?”

“Yes!” Came the chorused reply of confirmation.

“Are we _sure_?” He probed, casting his gaze on Lambo with a suspicious tingle running through him, curtesy of his Hyper Intuition.

“ _Yes!_ ” The Bovino insisted.

He beamed, taking a hand from both raven-haired children in his own, “Alright then, off we go!”

_‘We’re coming, Mama…’_

.

“Wait, Tsuna,” The cow-child said as he stopped, fifteen minutes into their casual stroll and two streets down from their destination, digging his sneaker-clad feet into the path as he made a ridiculous request. “Lambo-san forgot to get the Ten Years Bazooka from the bathroom where he left it. We gotta go back for it _now_.”

“Leave it,” Tsuna ordered firmly, peering passively down at the fluffy hair. “I locked it up in the vault earlier because it causes complications and we can’t have things going haywire today. Not when Kaa-san’s finally coming back home.”

“But Tsuna-Nii…!” The younger whined in protest. “Lambo-san hid the last of his grape candy in there too!”

“I said: _no_ , Lambo,” was the soft reply. To the miniature Lightning User however, it seemed merciless. “We’ll be late if we go back now.”

Crocodile tears built up at the corner of jade green eyes as the little boy began sniffling in a tell-tale manner, the moisture threatening to overflow onto milky cheeks.

“B-But-!”

“Lambo!” I-Pin yelled, clearly cross by the redundancy of dealing with the bull-headed boy. Honestly, every time they went out he forgot something! “We’re not going back!”

“But without his candy,” The other whimpered, “Lambo-san will die!”

“No you won’t,” She argued as Fuuta, who had been sweat dropping in exasperation beside her, face palmed at the youngest theatrics. “You’re just spoilt!”

“Oh yeah?” He countered indignantly. “Well, Lambo-san thinks you’re all mean!” He cried with a petulant stomp. “We _have_ to go back and get Lambo-san’s candy! Right, Tsuna-Nii?”

However, contrary to what the little Italian thought, the eldest was completely unmoved by the bratty display and thus was utterly unrepentant as he repeated his decision, “When I say, ‘no,’ I _mean_ ‘no,’ Little Calf.” Before the hysterics could start up, he compromised, or at least that’s what he told himself. “But if you’re good and wait a bit, I’ll have Hayato take you to go get some grape candy in the convenience store a block from the hospital when we get there. Okay?”

Well, maybe he wasn’t _totally_ unmoved, but in his defence, such would require a heart of stone –which, clearly, he wasn’t fortunate enough to possess.

Excited by the prospect of candy shopping, and at his favourite store to boot, Lambo agreed without a second thought. “Okay, but he won’t share with either I-Pin or Fuuta!”

Stunned, I-Pin gasped, relapsing into the broken Japanese that was once her norm. “Lambo selfish!”

At that, Tsuna’s strict façade nearly crumbled, and it was all he could do to maintain his composure. Pressing his knuckles to his lips, he fought harder as the others cracked up behind him at the continuing banter between his two youngest.

.

“Hey, mom!” The jovial call echoed off the sterile space as Tsuna, completely accustomed to the lack of response by this point, released Lambo and I-Pin’s hands and went about business as usual.

First things first, he walked up to the prone figure on the bed and pecked her atop her chocolate brown head. Entering behind him, the gang flooded in. Gokudera divided the armada of balloons and tied them down in all four corners. Haru and Kyoko rushed to the metal trolley and softened it with an ivory lace tablecloth, then set down the Dulce-de-Leche cake that Tsuna had baked and arranged the individual slices of different deserts they had bought around it. The fruit went on the shelf below with the drinks and basket of utensils. “It’s finally the big day: they’re pulling you out of that medicated coma Dad insisted on. I mean, your burns healed months ago; he’s just procrastinating because he knows you’ll have tons of questions he doesn’t wanna answer when you wake up. But guess what? That’s not all… Is it kids?”

“No!” the three children called simultaneously, bursting into giddy giggles at the end. It seemed that the idea that Mama was really coming home with them finally hit, and now the children were practically euphoric.

“It’s Sunday, May 13th…!” He chirped as he threw open the curtains to the private room, to let in the glorious mid-morning sunlight. His mother loved the sun. “You know what that means, right?” He continued brightly, a teasing edge to his tone as he crossed over to her bed to fluff her pillows and pull the thick quilt further up over her pale form. Being careful of the many wires and trappings had become second nature even to the clumsy him, and he was gentle when he sat down beside her, brushing her bangs from her face. “It’s Mother's Day 2018! The gang’s all here, and guess what, we brought you flowers, and balloons…the girls even brought cake!” Taking a moment to survey her drawn but peaceful expression, Tsuna’s eyes narrowed as he fully registered her temperature.

She was freezing.

They had his mother ice-cold like a god-forsaken gelato!

Reaching over to the bedside table closest to him, he grabbed the control for the AC and adjusted it so that it was warmer. How could the nurses have left it so high? How many times had he told them that she hated the cold? It made her think of _that man_ because they’d met during winter. It reminded her of so many things in relation to him that while she rejoiced in the memories, she also recalled that he was never around. It made her remember the empty space in her bed, the vacant seat at their table, the crushing loneliness in her heart. Livid, as only thoughts of Sawada Iemitsu could make him, Tsuna fought for calm. He couldn’t lose his head here. He’d frighten the children, worry his friends, and today wasn’t about him. It was about his beautiful, silent mother, who lay scarily still on a hospital bed, unable to truly enjoy even the warmth of her family. Shaking off the scowl that had appeared on his face at the negligence, he decided to talk to the Head Nurse again and left it at that for now.

“Her hair has gotten longer,” Kyoko commented absently over his shoulder.

“Yeah…” He breathed distantly, caressing the ends of his own hair, and hers, comparing the texture and length. Looks like it was time they both had a trim. “Haru, could you?” he requested, turning to meet her gaze over his left shoulder. “Please,” He implored. “I can’t trust a regular stylist with her, and you’ve got the most practice with women thanks to all these years of snipping your own.”

“Sure,” she accepted with a hopeful expression. She was so flattered that her pulse was triple its regular pace, and her mind was filling her with dozens of possible places this little sign could lead. But no, her better sense warned her. Tsuna only trusted her because they were friends. Very good friends, to be true, but just friends none the less. Before she could stop herself, however, her mouth was offering, “Want me to do yours too? I mean, I know Kyoko has had more practice with guys thanks to her brother, but if you’d let me, I’d like to try.”

Blinking in surprize for a few seconds, it was all too soon when Tsuna’s countenance gentled, eyes softening, expression fond as he gave her that luminous smile.

“Thank you, Haru,” he whispered tenderly.

Her heart soared.

Then, in the same breath, he turned to the share that same smile with Kyoko, stopping her fantasizes in their tracks.

Swallowing passed the knot in her throat, she rearranged the single slices of designer treats into columns on either side of Tsuna’s to distract herself from the tightening in her chest. Dividing them by type, then pairing them off by flavour, she lined them up with their apexes pointing in the opposite direction to their mate, forever at odds, never seeing one another eye to eye. This left red velvet, white chocolate, dark chocolate and mocha point in one direction, and pink champagne, vanilla, pistachio, and caramel aimed in the next. The former on the left, with the single serving, six-inch rectangular torts: orange, lemon, coconut, and pineapple, along with apple, strawberry, blueberry and raspberry, and cherry and blackcurrant, on the right. Unsatisfied, she fussed with the details of the coupling over and over until it was once again exactly as she’d first organized it in monotonous dejection.

‘ _Ah well,_ ’ she reflected as she finished. What else did she expect? Tsuna hadn’t ever taken her confessions seriously, and now, with him having to take care of everything at home while his mother was devastatingly unable, romance was possibly not even on his mind.

 _‘-and rightly so!’_ She defended, all while knowing that though she admired him all the more for it, it still hurt.

By this point, Lambo had left with Gokudera to procure more grape candy. Having been warned sternly as Tsuna could, which wasn’t as impressive as the older hoped, to behave himself and try and not get on Hayato’s nerves. In turn, Gokudera had been asked to ‘go easy’ on Lambo, and oh, could he grab a couple gumballs for Fuuta, and a few lollipops for I-Pin? She liked the flat, bright red ones. That took the silverette out of the room just in time for Nana Sawada’s attending, Vongola hired physician to enter and deliver the worst news possible.

She was going to wake up, not now, not ever.

She couldn’t.

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	2. Chapter One: Gentle ~ Hibari’s Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place long before the confirmation that Nana Sawada would never even smile again, back to the beginning of this whole mess.

 

They hated each other.

At least, they had in the beginning. And so for many years after, they’d fought against one another with all they had. One to avenge his tattered pride and assuage his bruised ego, and the next, understanding this, to honour the other’s need for both closure and entertainment. It probably didn’t make sense to anybody else, but, from the moment they met, neither could deny that the other was _exceptionally_ amusing, and considering their utter distaste for human contact and the way they avoided basic social interaction like the plague, they clung to anything that was interesting. They held on to anything that captured their attention like it was a life line, so it wasn’t really all that surprising when their fights began to take a rather… _intriguing_ turn.

At first it was purely physical, but that changed soon after they had all moved on to Nami High, him dragging his infamous disciplinary Committee with him. The reason, he defended, was _not_ because the omnivore was going and had expressed his _concerns_ towards their education either. It was actually because the Omnivore's Yamato Nadeshiko mother always sent lunch for him and his troupes. He only allowed it in the first place because of the health benefits, (healthy minions meant competent minions after all; it was obvious from a tactical standpoint). And it was _not_ because they were delicious, or because Sawada Tsunayoshi was worried about his, (as the Octopus-Herbivore put it), "thugs," or because he always delivered them himself, and his smile made Hiba- erm, Hibird happy, but because of... _tactics_. That, and the fact that that herbivorous, attentive, Mother-hen attitude of his somehow raised the morale of the men, and it'd be a waste if the obentos arrived late and the D.C. got sloppy while on patrol just because that slow _Tuna_ had to run all the way from Nami Koukou.

Life had settled down into a respectable routine punctuated by the typical excitement brought on by the presence of the Vongola heir, (read: assassins), and Hibari was content. He had time for his naps. He had time for patrol. He had time to discipline the average delinquents, and/or law-breaking citizens of Namimori. And most importantly, he had time for his fights with the illusionist, secure in the knowledge that no matter how much time they lasted (time that was increasing more and more as that Nagi-girl grew in power), or how far they took it, everything would be okay. Having ended up at both the summit of Mt. Fuji and as far as Okinawa respectively on two previous occasions, it was a tested truth that Namimori and the D.C. were safe in the hands of his one and only omnivore, Tsunayoshi...Primarily, not because he was strong, but because of the aforementioned committee's members, (the herbivores that they were), practically worshiped the ground upon which the slender brunet walked for _exactly_ that reason. The general pattern of thought amongst his men, according to Kusakabe, was that "Sawada-chan" was too...delicate and sweet - too gentle for all that violence. Even though he was remarkably improving _exactly_ that _every day_ under the supervision of that Arcobaleno. Regardless of how his strength grew, for reasons perplexing to Hibari, he persisted in not hurting even flies. Therefore, after witnessing him carefully saving such an insignificant insect and releasing it, apparently, things changed. (Little did they know Tsuna was actually sparing them Reborn’s wrath for killing one of his subordinates.) Their efficiency was now quadrupled when Tsuna had to watch over them while he was gone, so that the city would be safe for "Sawada-chan," his friends, and his family to walk its streets with no harm befalling them.

God forbid _that_ should ever happen because as much as he would be entertained by their vicious bloodlust, Namimori would become dirty and the clean-up was a chore. Moreover, they had the aggravating habit of fawning over that formally useless omnivore of his every time he so much as got a paper-cut. Thus, Hibari could only begin to fathom how much whining and coddling would be involved if they ever caught wind of the truth whenever that little animal was ever truly wounded, and just the _thought_ of it made him want to bite them to death.

He absentmindedly wondered what they would think if they knew that their pretty little "Sawada-chan," (the moniker never got old), had beat the monkey-king that they feared so much, and that put them all on edge whenever he visited, to a bloody-pulp more than once. It would be amusing to see their expressions should they ever find out, but knowing those foolish herbivores, it would only serve to deify "Saint Sawada" in their eyes. So before they brought that idiotic, metrosexual herbivore’s jeers to fruition he'll make certain they never discover the truth, and bite them to death should they even breathe an insolent word of insinuation his way. You know, if they _actually_ ever had the audacity to demote him and nickname him something ridiculous like, "Consort Kyoya" to their divine "Dame-Demi-god." (That'll teach those nearly mutinous minions to make him doubt their loyalty.) Honestly though, you should hear them when walking passed Nami High's larger, more comfortable Reception Room that was done in the refined shades of royal and midnight blue, during lunch. Every day they gush and sigh at the very sight of him, practically turning to mush at every little gesture he makes. It's pathetic, hardened soldiers cooing and giggling like mere girls because of a "bunny." It wasn't all bad though, at the very least, the other was so startled by their adoration that he made the most amusing faces. And while they were distracted, Hibari could sneak away to clash his dominating and fearsome tonfa against an elegant but formidable trident.

That was all well and good but then, suddenly, one-day Mukuro collapsed. Mid-fight, at that.

Apparently, his concentration slipped when too much of his scheduled sedative was given to him quite unexpectedly all the way back in Vendicare and down he went. Hibari took Chrome home; taking care of her throughout the night and the next day. He even missed school while tending to her, and if you’d asked him then why he’d done it, he’d have told you that it was because he hadn’t bitten the real pineapple herbivore to death yet, so the eyepatch-pineapple herbivore needed to stay alive to channel his source of spar-like recreation until her master was released.

Of course, that wasn’t the whole truth.

If he had been honest with himself back then, he’d have acknowledged that the moment Mukuro abruptly choked on a gasp, knees buckling as his expression contorted into a pained grimace that wasn’t brought on by him, his heart had all but stopped.

But Hibari hadn’t been prepared to admit it; it would have been too much, too soon.

And so, mind suddenly blank with herbivorous feelings that he refused to ponder or give name to, he didn’t think. When he saw Mukuro give way to Chrome once more, he just moved forward, wordlessly scooped the girl up into his arms, and took her back to his mansion. Unfortunately enough for him of yesteryear, his charitable act didn’t end when Chrome woke up, oh no, the other was in a total panic, declaring that “Mukuro-sama” was "in danger," and that despite his stubbornness, he needed "help," so she was going to get to “Bossu,” because he "definitely knows more," and she had to "find out" how she could "be of service." However sound that plan seemed, when her inability to stand up properly, far less move on her own was taken into consideration, it was proven to be utter nonsense. And so it was that Hibari had to take off full tilt with the female Mist-user on his back, all the way to the Little Animal’s home.

Tsuna welcomed him immediately with a soft, "Eh? Already, Hibari-san? You're a few minutes early...! I _told_ Reborn that the extra weight wouldn’t hamper your speed at all, but that bossy baby never listens to me! Mou, shouldn’t he of all people understand how amazing Hibari-san is?" that was complemented by an altogether too jovial glitter to those innocent eyes. What’s more, the tone that coated that slowly deepening voice whenever the smaller called him by name was nearly too timid-sounding for his taste at the start, and was strangely accompanied by with most adorable blush the Skylark had ever seen. But, as it all ended in a sigh, the first-born Hibari heir tried valiantly (abet in vain) to put it out of his mind. Taking the fact the omnivore wasn't as loud as in the past, and that his greeting was oddly pleasing to the elder for the same reasons he found himself watching the fast-growing teen quite attentively lately, (reasons which he neither wanted nor needed to ponder then), Hibari charitably decided to spare him from being bitten to death _just this once_.

...Particularly since Hibird had already perched himself atop the brunet's shaggy head of hair the moment the sixteen-year-old opened the door, and obviously wasn't planning on moving until Tsuna himself moved him, or Hibari began to leave. Since the raven would never dream of hurting him, Sawada Tsunayoshi was left unbitten _just this once_.

If the Pineapple were around, he would point out how funny it was that he kept telling himself that, every time more fervently, as if to make himself believe it. Annoying as the thought was, it nonetheless recentered his focus to the situation at hand.

"She needs you," Hibari replied simply, jerking his head back towards the girl curled up there _just_ out of view, and intentionally disregarding the fact that Tsuna had obviously been expecting him. He had gotten used to the would-be Decimo’s arousingly intimidating intuition.

Tsuna, snapping out of whatever shy, admiring daze he’d slipped into whilst the prefect was thinking. He straightened promptly, eyes narrowing with seriousness as he stepped forwards to take Chrome from the taller male. He pointly didn't question why she was with Hibari, or why either had been absent from school, (which the other must have surely noticed since he was still in his uniform's shirt and slacks). Realizing this, the Cloud's ardent gaze followed the Sky with an intensity that would have been impossible to ignore, and positively traumatizing to anyone else if they'd been its target.

But Tsuna wasn't afraid.

Tsuna, was **_never_** afraid.

At least, not anymore; as expected of the man he had grown to trust with even his beloved Namimori.

Although, now that he considered it, Tsuna's so-called fear of him had been more of a sensible understanding of both of their difference in strength, and Hibari's own tolerance of his antics, (or lack thereof), instead of the regular, outright piss-yourself terror.

Wordlessly heading back into the unusually calm house, the young boss only paused for a nanosecond to invite the Disciplinary Chairman with a tell-tale nod of his head, before immediately heading up the stairs to his own bedroom. Being a proud but respectful Japanese male, Hibari himself moved to chase the owner of that fluffy head of brown locks only _after_ he'd removed his shoes. Thankfully, he was just in time to see the brunet in full on mother-hen mode sitting beside female mist who was atop what seemed like fresh sheets and buried snuggly under a heavy set of blankets that must have been pulled from the still opened wardrobe.

"Lambo? Ice-pack, please," He ordered softly in monotone, compassionate eyes totally focused on the ailing girl.

Dutifully, the cow-child handed him the item, his Chinese companion stepping forward the moment Tsuna called for her to give him the hot-water bottle she held after he'd situated the first on Chrome's head, and raised the quilt he'd placed upon her just a mere minute before. That earned a raised brow from Hibari, but to her credit the girl didn't even flush (in embarrassment or otherwise), completely trusting that whatever her leader did was for her own good, and if not, then for the overall good. Proving himself worthy of that confidence, Tsuna simply wrapped the hot-water bottle in a pillow case he must have likewise fetched earlier, and placed it directly on the teen's lower stomach. Tucking her back in, he tenderly brushed the bangs from her sweaty forehead, eyes warm and no longer severe now that the girl was being made as comfortable as possible, his very aura over-pouring with empathy that Hibari realized just then that no man should have to that capacity since they couldn't conceivably ever comprehend what it must be like to...menstruate.

_Oh._

Then was the pineapple-herbivore also affected?

As big a waste of time as this was turning out to be, (not because he didn't value the struggles of females, visiting his mother and little sister as often as he did, but because the child was clearly in capable hands), he decided he would only stay to make certain that his prey was indeed alright. Oh, and to make subtle inquiries to the omnivore as to regularity, certain dates, and for precision's sake, durations of such a particularity, so that this event wouldn't be repeated again.

To would be dangerous to all parties involved.

Meanwhile Tsuna, in response to her admittance of pain, was fervently inquiring, "Have you taken any ibuprofen? How long ago? Do you want any?"

"No, I haven't taken any yet," She confessed tiredly.

"Well, we can take care of that!" He chimed with a fond look down at the little ones on their knees on the side of the bed, who were peeking up at the girl worriedly. "Right, guys?"

With a sharp nod and a sound of affirmation, I-pin ran off to get the drug in question, and Lambo fished one of his precious grape candies out of his silken though voluminous locks and offered it up to Nagi.

"These always make Lambo-sama feel better when Maman is out and can't kiss his boo-boos!" He declared brightly. "And if that doesn't work, Tsuna-Nii's kisses are _just_ as good as Maman's, only he always studying up here with mean old Reborn."

"Really?" Chrome asked in faint amusement as she reached out passed the sweatdropping Tsuna to pat the seven-year-old's head.

Lambo nodded.

"Sometimes," He whispered conspiratorially, pushing himself up with his tip-toes so that his belly slid up the bed so he could get in close enough for his stage whisper to somehow remain a coveted, well-guarded trade-secret. "They're even better...!"

Unable to restrain herself at that, Chrome burst into giggles as Tsuna facepalmed, knowing that her sweet-natured boss wouldn't take offense. Believe it or not, the next big boss of the largest league of crime syndicates in the world was blushing under that hand!

"Alright," Tsuna murmured not unkindly. "That's enough out of you, Lambo," He continued, teasingly poking the curly-haired child in his ticklish little tummy, and smiling at his cute chortling. "If you really want to help Chrome, you can hold the glass while I pour water for her to swallow the pills I-pin has brought."

Right on cue, that very _instant_ , the statuesque seven-year-old in red came through the door, her shod feet making an almost negligible tap on the hardwood that it didn't in the carpeted halls.

Hibari observed the trio as they summarily gave the sixteen-year-old girl the pain-killer, and Tsuna shooed the little ones away with the promise of taking them out for ice-cream the next day.

"Now, Reborn," He began, calling the infant out of his hiding place within Tsuna's wardrobe.

The skylark hummed.

Ah, so that’s why. The omnivore left it open on purpose, so as not to hamper the baby's hearing in any which way or form. Hibari’d been wondering if it had just been an oversight on the other’s part; he should have known better.

"What's the latest status on the movement I put forward to the Ninth last week?" He asked as he stood, stretching, and crossed towards his desk.

“Don’t get it twisted, my stupid student. Thanks to the action you undertook last week, I might _potentially_ become your future subordinate, but that’s a technicality considering the difference in our level of skill and experience. I’m not your servant, Dame-Tsuna,” The correction was immediate and punctuated with a threatening flash of the infant’s signature green and black gun handgun. “You don’t give me orders.”

“…‘potentially,’ Reborn?” It was a curious, fondly exasperated inquiry.

“The dead can’t inherit anything,” The hitman clarified with an insidious gleam in his large, black orbs. “And that includes pesky titles that make them feel superior when they can barely tie their own shoelaces without falling over.”

“…I didn’t mean for it to sound like a command, Reborn,” The boss candidate replied soothingly, smoothing over any ruffled feathers on the part of the wizened cherub. “I most of all know that I was nothing before you, and I _am_ thankful. I’m sorry if it came out disrespectfully.”

The open affection in swirling depths of Tsuna’s grateful gaze should have quite frankly been outlawed in Hibari’s opinion, as it worked like an A-class tranquilizer to the agitated powerhouse in the seemingly innocuous form of a baby. The head of the D.C. was unsurprised when the weapon was replaced by a docile chameleon once more, and propped atop the Arcobaleno’s hat which was tugged ever so slightly downwards as he in turn responded.

“It’s fine. You know how…tense I’ve been lately,” The awkward clearing of his throat indicated his own sincerity, as a predator or no, he, in all the vast maturity he possessed in his tiny body, apologized in his own way. “Anyway, two days after the ball last week the Alliance met as a whole, and the Nono brought your ‘movement’ before the assembly.”

“And what did they say?” The brunet inquired, anxiously wringing his hands.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” The sun-user teased, waving a thick report he’d produced from thin air, under Tsuna’s nose.

Something stood out to the tonfa-wielder just then: the third mention of ‘last week.’ That was around the time of the baby and the Omnivore's conjoint birthday celebrations...

But what movement would have to wait until the Tuna had turned sixteen? Were sixteenth birthdays important to the Vongola for some reason? Sixteenth, eighteenth and twenty-first years were often associated with coming of age...Now that he pondered it, that blond, miserable excuse for a father Tsuna had the unfortunate luck of being saddled with, _had_ been babbling drunkenly about something like that. Hibari had just been too repulsed by his very presence to take much notice of him and the spectacle he was making. Just the smell of him had sent Hibird flying away, and his master had been all too eager to follow his lead.

In any case, whatever it was, it must have been important for the brunet to refer to the old man he'd called "Grandpa" last week, as "Ninth" now, like he did at that unnecessarily elaborate gala that followed later that very evening.

Chrome must have been thinking along the same lines too, because she asked, "What movement is that, Bossu? And does it have anything to do with Mukuro-sama?"

Tsuna nodded, left hand in his pants pocket as he appreciatively accepted the ebony binder with the ridiculous stack of white inside, from his tiny tutor.

His eyes flashed amber as they flickered over the folder’s cover, embossed with the Vongola Crest in gold, before he let out a long, stabilizing breath to centre himself while he got right down to business.

Skimming it with a carefully crafted, outwardly calm façade, he replied, "I've been trying to see if I can get Mukuro released from Vendicare for over a year now, but even getting in contact, hell, being _allowed_ to get in contact with Vindice isn't something I can do on my own. I wanted to see if I could use Vongola's channels and connections to take poor Mukuro out of that horrible place, and Reborn informed me that I most certainly could once I officially accepted my status of heir to Vongola, as I did last week at my coming-of-age. However, it still isn't nearly as easy as you'd guess what with me being the future Decimo. The fact is that it's a lot more...complicated, specifically because I'm not just going become the leader of a random group of gangsters, but the next Head of an ancient and prolific clan of mobsters, a mafia of mafias, a Familia like no other, _the_ Vongola, and more to the point the Vongola _Alliance_. As a matter of fact, if I was going to be the head honcho of anything _but_ the Vongola Alliance, there would be no hope for Mukuro at all- for the degree of crimes he committed, he'd remain sealed in there forever. And because it's an 'alliance,' even if I'm the future head of its head familia, doesn't mean I get to do what I want. Actually, Reborn's made it quite clear that it's the opposite, because I'm the Decimo-in-training, I have more restrictions placed upon me. Furthermore, most of these people don't really know me. Oh, they know _about_ me, but they don't know the _real_ me. They don't know my ideals, my purpose, my personality, strengths, weaknesses...but they are watching, watching _very carefully_ ; they’re probing my every move and sending their spies to try and figure me out. Subsequently, until they understand ‘me,’ my rhythm, and my way of doing things, and until they approve more than halfway without exception, they, as a whole, won't trust me, and I'll have no access to their unified force. Without their conjoined political power to manoeuvre, I'll have no way to get the Vindice to hear me out, far less to negotiate the terms of Mukuro's release. In conclusion, they have what we need to save Mukuro, but won't give it to me until I prove I'm worthy of it; they _won't_ just hand it over to me because I'm 'me.' Get it?"

Both guardians present nodded in unison, simultaneously having processed and accepted the issue.

Now all that was left was problem solution.

How did the omnivore plan to earn the confidence of the mafia? No offense to the infant's training regimen, but as impressive as the former herbivore's growth was, he wasn't exactly 'Godfather'-material just yet.

A tranquil silence reigned as Tsuna sat down and concentrated on what must have been the old carnivore’s report on the Alliance's consensus on the motion to set Mukuro Rokudo free. Chrome napped, Hibari himself rested against the far wall, shamelessly enjoying the view of his deliciously serious omnivore, and Hibird sang all the sweetest songs he'd learnt from Hibari's little sister, Kyoumi. The little ball of puff was trying to show off to the preoccupied lion club as he nestled even more deeply into that impossibly soft mane of hair that just invited others to touch.

That peace didn't last too much longer though. Barely two minutes later found Tsuna unwittingly interrupting Hibird’s concert with the sounds of burning refuse as he hastily ripped one page after another out of the reply presented by his predecessor’s office. Mercilessly, he incinerated each sheet with his bare hands immediately after tearing them out of their compilation; no gloves, pills or bullets required.

Well, there went composure.

Excited by the display, Hibari positively leered when, two-thirds the way through the thick document, Tsuna apparently decided to cremate what was left of the pitiful excuse of a report, (binder and all). He was utterly nauseated by the level of cowardice displayed by supposedly hardened Mafioso. Not to mention the willingness of fellow human beings’ allowance of injustice that was made further hypocritical in the face of their fatal failure to protect the innocent in the first place, not through their ignorance, but through their arrogance in believing they were above dealing with the petty problems of the riffraff, _which_ was worsened further by them ostracizing the survivors immediately following the incident wherein Mukuro saved his companions, eliminating any chance of dispelling lingering resentment and prompting the healing of emotional scars. And then they have the _audacity_ to deny even the _thought_ of Mukuro’s release and run their mouths about his precious friend and guardian! The _nerve_ of these repulsive rodents! You’d swear Mukuro had asked for it! That _Ken and Chikusa_ had asked for it! That all those poor children who hadn’t _survived_ long enough to truly live, probably spending day after day _begging_ for respite, for somebody, _anybody_ to save them, had asked for such a tragic fate…! No, not fate, but instead _‘betrayal._ ’ Those bastards had _known_. They had _all_ known.

And yet…they did _nothing_.

So for what purpose did they exist except to aid the defenseless? To lie? To steal? To kill? And for what? To become rich? Powerful?

It was _sickening_.

Again understanding Mukuro-tachi’s perspective, his heart gave an agonizing throb in sympathy at what they must have suffered. No. Rather, what they were _still_ suffering. Mukuro was stuck in that horrendous cage, and Ken and Chikusa were lost without him, despite Sawada Nana’s son’s devoted attentions. And to make matters worse, there was the issue of Chrome! Whatever it took, Tsuna swore to himself, he would free Mukuro.

Turning towards his awaiting tutor and the taller male whose trademark leather gakuran still hung off his shoulders, he proclaimed his resolve. The glow of the dissipating document was so thoroughly desiccated, that, as it dispelled into naught but flickers that were beyond even the point where they were recognizable as _ash,_ they reflected alluringly off his stunningly fierce features. Thence, he wasted no time in saying, " **Fuck** this. Reborn, please gather the others. Kyoya, notify Tetsuya of your absence: we're going to Italy."

And all Hibari could say in response to the look that promised absolute _war_ in those seething, searing caramel embers that scorched his very soul was:

"Wow."

Gentle, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think? I wanna see what you guys theories about how Nana ended up in a coma. lol


	3. Chapter One: Gentle ~ Tsuna's Side

 

Fragmented glass rained down upon where the projectile landed, revealing an orb of Sky Flames that parted and then dispersed from the top-down, only to flare at the hands of the figure that emerged from the resplendent orange cocoon. In a burst of dazzling color, another six forms shot down from above, leaving the faint impression of a cylindrical rainbow with orange facing most of the congregation, for a nanosecond after they landed.

Shower of glittering facets finally over, it was clear what had just happened:

The Tenth Vongola Generation had just _literally_ crashed the Vongola Alliance’s Assembly.

As the veil of flame parted, a vision was ever so slowly revealed. Bit by bit. Piece by piece. Every feature and flaw in isolation for a single moment before joining the whole as it slipped through the living, sunset orange curtain. First came the softly rounded tip of a slender nose. Then came sensually shaped eyes surrounded in sinfully thick lashes, looking out at them from a hauntingly familiar face. Hands clad proverbially in Black Death edged and embellished with silver, and alit with the elemental calamity of a furnace grand enough to consume the world completely. As they’d heard in their youth, they mentally chanted the three ancient parameters of peace that had been passed down throughout their families: a purifying pyre for those in his path, cauterizing contrition for those who counter him but repent, and charred carnage for those who persist. Dozens of pairs of eyes hesitantly rose to perceive orbs of vicious, inescapable hellfire.

A monster.

Don Gaston, who had missed the gala, and was thus seeing Tsuna for the first time, actually screamed in horror.

Not that many could blame him, looking at Decimo was like looking at the portraits of Primo. His achingly beautiful face, his trademark mane, even his eyes pierced the same way. The fact that he had grown his hair out a tad bit too long at his nape was completely negligible in light of those long bangs of the exact length as his ancestor. True, he was a brunet, but with his will blazing like a crown, and those amber eyes pressing down upon them…

Like a forbidden glimpse into the past, a renewal of their righteous fear and respectful fidelity to the Head Famiglia, he was a scarily accurate reminder to **obey** less you be _decimated_.

And with the rest of his guardians being miniature versions of the first generation, (particularly the silveret in a red shirt, ebony vest, dress jeans and boots, and the raven-haired samurai in his white gi, navy hakama and traditional straw geta to his right and left respectively), that it was all many could do not to join the poor, frightened Don.

Ghosts, the specters of the First Generation had returned home.

Despite the stories that claimed that the Alliance was the fruit of friendship, the fine print was blatant: cordial cooperation existed until some fool crossed Don Vongola and became excrement.

In the end, power was everything.

Apparently heedless of their dramatic entrance, all Nono said was: “Ah, Tsunayoshi! I see you got my report.”

Tsuna’s already severe gaze narrowed further at that, and he **intentionally** didn’t even deign to turn and meet Timoteo’s eyes. Bangs hanging over his eyes as the flame of his forehead all but exploded into greater size and prominence with a brilliant show of light at the mere _mention_ of the accursed thing, the teen breathed slowly and focused on not burning the whole hall to the ground.

You know, followed by leveling the entire estate, and following _that_ up with a spree of annihilation of the Alliance’s compounds? Sometimes he really understood Mukuro… But no, letting wrath, in all its inpatient glory, control your actions had led to not just his male Mist’s downfall, but also that of Xanxus. Sobering, he raised his head and surveyed all of the trembling assembly out of disapproving eyes. As if he had peered into the essence of their very beings, weighed them, and found them all wanting. His uncomfortably strong resemblance to his Famiglia’s founder, whose portrait hung above his head on the wall behind him (just over the seat of the current Vongola Don), had many shifting in their seats, and others more struggling against the irrational urge to lower their heads like naughty children that had disappointed their mother.

None of them, however, could avert their eyes from his laser-like glower.

“You mean the embossed evidence of the noble Vongola Alliance’s cowardice…?” He finally inquired. “Yes, we _did_ get something like that, didn’t we, Hayato?”

His low voice was soft, tone gentle, and eerily more dangerous than if he had been shouting. But he was no child crying out for attention, he was the next boss of the Vongola Family, and he was going to get what he wanted –one way, or another.

He’d sold his soul for it, after all; it was time he get his due.

“It wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on, Juudaime,” his Right-Hand Man replied dutifully.

Bristling at the insult, most shook off their initial fear and began to voice their disapproval. Only the wisest of the congregation held onto that first impression and realized that they were dealing with a fatalistically formidable foe.

Those eyes: they spoke of destruction, extermination, **chaos** … They shuddered as they saw the devil reflected in the glowing golden eyes of one who looked very much like an angel. As if God had sent one of the Angels of the Apocalypse to punish them.

It was said that this juxtaposition was one of Primo’s greatest psychological advantages -now they knew why. It was a morally crippling sensation, having so lovely an adversary, teeming with righteousness, and with the remnant signs of a sweet smile lingering around the set of his mouth –as if he was always tending to his friends and family with it. Imagining it in contrast to the satanic scowl made them feel oddly guilty. Maybe it was the nurturing inclinations written into his every movement; it gave them the strangest sensation of being stalked by an adolescent lioness defending her pride’s cubs now. Maybe it was the protective way his guardians, despite their various, clashing personas, hovered first with their vulnerable backs trustingly to one another, and now side by side all closely knit. They were unified by the same ardent desire blazing in their eyes. It was as if he were a magnet, except with the sheer force of several solar masses, drawing them irrevocably ever in towards him. Helpless humans against his near galactic gravity, they had become addicted to the pull along the way. The very intensity of their collective glare, and the ever burgeoning power practically _pouring_ off them made it seem as if they would be capable of absolutely anything to satisfy their cravings, to whet their appetite for his very presence.

…all with a background of a scorching spectacle, gushing out of his fists without pause.

In a twisted way though, some could understand. Decimo’s flames were so pure, so unbelievably bright. Their quality was startling, and their luminosity breath-taxing. They were almost hypnotic, the way they ebbed and flowed with his breath, fluttering to his pulse, flickering at the edges as if they were dancing. They entranced the eyes, exceptional in clarity, like an infinitely flawless diamond, translucent and tempting, energizing, enigmatic, and enthralling all the more for it. The glistening tendrils of the inferno reaching up to his jaw were so… _distracting_ , that very few caught the whispered order.

“Chrome, summon him.”

Bowing, she submissively acquiesced with a murmur of, ‘Yes, Bossu.’

The ones that did though, either jolted with terror, reeling back in stunned dismay, or bellowed in protest, their guards flooding forth into the room at the noise instinctively, to protect them. At the commotion, the others caught on, and the miasma of murmurs rose to a roar. Everyone clamored against the very idea of even having his conduit here, having for most part not even registered her presence earlier. The Ninth let it happen, let the horde have their moment to decry Tsuna’s command, waiting to see what Tsuna would do.

Sure enough, he didn’t disappoint.

“ **Silence…** ”

The vehement hiss, in combination with the ridiculously rising Fiamma pressure, cut through the thunderous racket instantaneously, simultaneously muting the mutinous mumblings.

“Kyoya, discipline anyone who even breathes too loudly.”

As he gave the command, his stare was suspiciously blank. Expression devoid of anything in particular, utterly stoic, nearly peaceful, he was curiously more intimidating than when he was openly displeased. The very look of the raven that stepped forward was anything but.

_His_ glare spoke of murder, of mutilation, of massacre.

He was bloodlust incarnate.

Appropriately cowed by it, a hush descended. Though a few wondered at the peculiar phrasing of the threat.

_Discipline_ , they mentally scoffed. _Is that what he was calling it?_

Decimo seemed more maternal the more he interacted with them; even going as far as to call the beast of his little family to the fore to punish the…‘ _misbehaving_.’

“Chrome,” Tsuna reiterated. “Summon him, but don’t tell him anything.”

“Of course,” she repeated in acceptance with another bow. Amongst potential enemies, there could be no question of Tsuna dominance. Regardless of her –and Tsuna’s- own feelings towards the whole idea, his authority needed to be seen as absolute. And though she didn’t understand the need to thrust her other into this mess without prior warning, she trusted Tsuna to degrees that would be considered faulty if he wasn’t so completely reliable.

Strands of indigo mist began to envelop the girl’s form slowly until its silhouette was barely discernable. Then, even that subtly shifted, and from one moment to the next changed. It was a seamless transition, and the eerie chuckles of that trademark laughter that sent chills up many a spine assured that it was successful. But while the Guards all across the vast hall pressed closer to their respective Bosses, the Ninth Generation didn’t even blink in response.

After all, the circular groove carved into the ground from their repeated use of _Difesa A Circolo_ around the dais where Timoteo sat, as well as their decades’ worth of experience, proved that throwing it up to defend their boss was a task both instinctive and instantaneous. Many a time, back in their youth when they were still perpetually on edge, they entombed him in flames for the most ridiculous things. Like the time when a flower petal fell from the open skylight during an assembly; the other famiglia heads were so surprised that one of the old and physically feeble actually peed himself. Or that fiasco when a mosquito entered through a previously unnoticed crack in the corner of a window in the grand ballroom next door, and the maids accidentally let it in when they were cleaning. The poor girls in question avoided Coyote like the plague for weeks after that. Or, rather infamously, the unfortunate incident where their stupid Boss made a pained sound because the sun got in his eyes as he walked out of the house and they had it enclosing him in immediately, right in middle of a garden party with over a thousand guests.

Timoteo still laughed at that one to this day.

And the sight of his smile is why they still occasionally brought it up- you know, how hair-triggered they all were back then? They were always ready to ‘ _die’_ for him or whatever nonsense passionate young people sprouted when drunk on Sky Flames, and their most precious person’s happiness. Proclamations like that were plentiful, varied and so theatrical in retrospect, that Bouche had entertained the thought of wiping some of the more melodramatic ones from everyone’s memory aloud more than once. But then that old Casanova would send him those profoundly amused looks, with those aggravatingly adorable twinkles in his usually tired eyes, and he’d just melt on the inside a little more –if that was at all possible.

One thing they’d learned about Skies, it was always possible.

Their timeless devotion and attraction to Timoteo said as much. Here they were, ancient sacks of memories, and they still had room to fall for him more and more with every single day. Looking at how bad off the Decimo Guardians were already, made them both equal parts sympathetic and vindictively eager. Especially since Decimo was even more potent a Sky than theirs, and didn’t even realize the power he had over them all. Poor things, they were just being dragged along behind him, squabbling like children for his attention. Those idiots were sure to be even worse than them…!

It’d be hilarious.

So, when even Mukuro obeyed Tsuna’s call and unveiled himself in all his flamboyant fashion, it was all Bouche could do not to snort. Ganauche, the one amongst them with the least self-control, actually had to bite his lips and turn away; his shoulders shook with silent laughter. When a muffled chortle escaped him, Schnitten put a calming hand on his shoulder while Coyote sent him a warning glare. Behind them, Brow Nie smothered a yawn with the side of his right fist, and across from him, Visconti shook his head in exasperation.

Their attention was reclaimed straight away, however, when Mukuro Rokudo finally decided to stop playing with the guests by projecting vague shadows of himself in random spots just to spook the more weak-willed.

“You called, Sawada Tsunayoshi?”

As he stepped out of seemingly thin air before his Master, he gave a bow embossed with grandiose gesticulation and sank to his left knee. Miraculously, the blaze of one hand shrank back quickly, until it was naught but faintly sparkling wisps that slowly dispersed into nothingness. Accepting the cue, right hand laying across his chest over his heart, Mukuro tellingly passed his weapon over to his Sky’s as of yet flaming fist, and reached out reverently with his now free hand to grasp Tsunayoshi’s cooling right hand in his left.

Drawing it close he pressed a devout kiss to the X of the glove, then affectionate pecks to each finger, and finally, with a filthy leer aimed up at the brunet, gave the gem of the Vongola Sky Ring a long, languid lick, dried it with a few heated puffs upon it, and kissed it obediently.

Needless to say, the Assembly was scandalized and only further incensed when the blasphemer gave them a taunting smirk over his shoulder before shifting to address his Sky.

“All clean,” the Mist declared softly, smugly, turning adoring eyes up to Decimo and batting his lashes provocatively as he wrapped his arms possessively around the heir’s leg and leaned his weight on it.

Idly petting the head whose nose was pressed into the clothed jut of his hip, Tsuna suppressed a sigh and swung half his upper body back to languidly survey his predecessor.

“Nono,” He began. “Before all gathered here I would like to plead my case. Have I leave to do as I please to convey my point?”

There was a pregnant silence before, suddenly, the two Skies auras were unleashed to battle against one another, probing at each other’s intent and prodding at weaknesses. Many a Mafiosi winced at the virtually invisible pressure of the two, impossibly potent pulses of energy clashing. The walls thrummed, the furniture rattled, and the air sang with the ever building power that didn’t seem to have an end in sight. Things carried on like this for a few minutes, escalating to even more unfathomable heights, and just when they were all writhing from the resounding vibration in their very bones, the double doors slammed open once again to admit an explosion of glowing Sun Flames that challenged even the younger Sky with the sheer force of, not a supernova, but a hypernova.

Having all experienced this before, they understood immediately what had just happened.

An Arcobaleno had arrived –and not just any Arcobaleno, but the infamous, World’s Greatest Hitman, and alleged strongest of the _I Prescelti Sette_ , Reborn.

“Ah, I was wondering where you were, Reborn!” Chirped the elder in greeting as he nonchalantly kept up the battle of wills; it was the most excitement he’d had in quite some time. Darn his dutiful Guardians for limiting the risks of what might be the most dangerous job on the planet. As an avid adrenaline junkie, he was ashamed to say that he was aching for a fix, and had purposely provoked his cute little successor to get it. After all, he could have naturally swayed the Assembly in favor of his ward; he just didn’t want to. Hell, he could have simply over-ruled them if they proved stubborn, or agreed to it privately and sent them all a declaration with his decision; such was the power of a well-established Vongola Don. But that’d be too easy, and, having grown up with a mother like his, he understood that rewards had to be earned.

And with this, the boy was most certainly doing just that.

“My apologies, Nono,” the infant nodded in deference. “I stopped by the kitchens to get my afternoon espresso. Try it, its Giannichi’s newest blend. ”

“No harm done, old friend,” replied the Don, taking a sip from the proffered cup.

“Good?” Inquired the hitman, ignoring his student’s strained grunt as he grit his teeth in frustration, in favor of chatting with his pal. Poor kid was beginning to struggle between restraining himself so that he wouldn’t hurt his friends, who were already squirming in discomfort, and releasing all he had to keep up with the far more mature and experienced Sky.

It was a testament to his self-control, however, that they weren’t clawing at themselves in agony, considering how vulnerable they were because of their sensitivity to his flames. They were so attuned that they had begun to sense when Tsuna was within a particular distance, which was unique to all of them respectfully, and unanimously even in which direction. Thus, pleased with his progress, Reborn wasn’t mad that his Dame-Decimo was losing; he wasn’t nearly as skilled as Nono.

That he was faring this well was astonishing in and of itself. Kudos to him for surviving.

The fact that Timoteo’s Guardians were utterly unharmed just decided for him exactly what was next on their collective training regimen.

“As always: excellent…” the wizened heart-throb praised, glancing at his Right-Hand through the corner of his eye with that signature twist of his lips. “Of course, it’s only to be expected considering that Coyote helped, and he knows _exactly_ what I like.”

The other Ninth generation Guardians carefully refused to react to the sight of their esteemed second-in-command flushing ever so slightly, but Reborn knew that they would clearly be remembering it later in private. It was almost a pity that he would be back in Japan and miss the resultant teasing – decades’ worth of unresolved sexual tension was always amusing. Still…

“Don’t you think that he’s done well enough for today?” he remarked idly, watching with apparent indifference as Tsuna’s canine, which had been biting into his bottom lip as he aimed his absolutely concentrated will at his senior, finally split it open. The single scarlet drop slipping down his chin becoming the stunned focus of his Guardians, who then turned their wrathful eyes on Nono.

Alas, not wanted things to deteriorate into a pointless squabble, and quite frankly more than a little impressed that Tsuna had held his own even half as long as he’d managed without more serious consequences, the man sighed in exhaustion. He may have over done it… Well, he comforted himself, he definitely wasn’t as young as he used to be after all, and Tsuna’s burgeoning will felt like nothing he’d ever dealt with before the child. Wrestling with him took energy that Timoteo rarely had any more, and unconquerable control to not lash out and cut his budding potential short in the most brutal way possibly out of the sheer instinct. The situation as akin to that of an aging lion perceiving a promising cub as a future rival and striking it down for the sake of its own survival.

He’d be a terrifying thing, Sawada Tsunayoshi, a monstrosity the likes of which no-one had or hopefully would ever see before or again –when he was all grown up, of course.

Reborn must be so proud…

Timoteo, eyes closed in both resigned acceptance and reluctant approval, gave Tsuna a firm nod.

“As you wish, Vongola Decimo.”

If nothing else, maybe getting tricked would add some caution to that naivety.

.


	4. Chapter One: Gentle ~ Mukuro Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, it was tough, ran away from me, then stuck me. I was sick too, so all in all it sucked. Next chapter is ready though so that'll be up if anyone's still reading this.

He wasn’t quite sure what to think of him: the bunny, Ken called him.

Kind and sweet, with that fluffy hair, equally fluffy personality, those big brown eyes and even bigger heart, he really was the ‘Little Animal’ that The Skylark was always accusing him of being. If Mukuro had to sum him up in one word it word be naïve, but in reality, secretly, when that child came to mind all he could think about was how gentle he was. His soft touch. His tender tone. Those fond eyes. That soul-stealing smile… And to have those traits survive his ancestor’s curse…? It stunned him -left the prisoner utterly baffled in the face of such persistent weakness. And he wondered if all the little things about him that gave Mukuro shivers, if all the little things about him that filled Mukuro with warmth would survive the blood-stained Mafia after all. Alas, it wasn’t possible. Mukuro couldn’t –wouldn’t believe it. And yet, combined with those affectionate arms, almost maternal nature, and endearing mannerisms- that boy inspired preposterous thoughts in his head. He was clearly dangerous. Practically deadly. Yes, _that_ boy, Sawada Tsunayoshi, the (allegedly) Omnipotent Sky, Vongola Decimo, future Head of the infamous Vongola Alliance. For all intent and purposes they were clearly enemies and yet-

And yet-

_Why was he so…?_

“Mukuro…?” The gentle call, accompanied by that timid tug on the mental link created by his foiled attempt to take over the brunet’s existence, drew the Master Illusionist out of his rueful musings.

“Mukuro?”

And there it was again.

Why was it always like that? It fascinated the older, the…warmth that radiated from the little strand of interconnected conscious. They were so different, you’d think that it would have faded with time and yet, like the astonishing existence it belonged to it persisted aggravatingly despite the time and distance. He’d tried to cut it, sever the bond between them many times before out of anger, frustration…fear, but for all that it was impossibly small it was incredibly strong.

Much like its owner.

“There you are!” Came the echoing, cheerful chime, and the taller turned to find the typical set up all laid out yet again by the amazing, little annoyance. “I am _so_ sorry that I’m late, but Lambo got a new shipment of grenades this morning and he ended up making a _huge_ mess of the backyard. Honestly, despite the fact that that I know it was all because of Reborn and his nonsense, that…little devil refuses to admit to it. But I mean, what’s even the point of that? He’s _gotta_ know that _I know_ that he had more to do with it than he let on. But instead of at least _hinting_ that he’s sorry that I had to fly all the way to **_Barcelona_** to get that special terracotta for the new porch that Dad brought last time he overnighted at home, he laughed! He’s _completely_ unrepentant! Though it’s totally like him to just _shamelessly_ stand aside and watch chaos take its ‘natural’ course after setting everything up himself, _this_ time he’s gonna regret it!”

Freezing internally at that pronouncement, he casually wondered, “And how are you going to do that?”

All the while, trepidation gnawed at his soul.

Was this it?

The evil eventuality?

The cruel revelation of **every** man’s truest nature?

The…betrayal of all his most secret hopes?

“Oh,” Tsuna bit his lip in contemplation, eyes hesitant and a little lost. “I guess I’ll just _conveniently_ forget how to make his expresso just right for the next week…again.”

He rolled his eyes to punctuate the ridiculousness of the World’s Greatest Hitman’s one true weakness, before sighing in exasperation.

But even as he grumbled adorably about being worked like a slave by “that ungrateful imp,” Mukuro’s heart soared.

But of course…

It was the only natural outcome…

Tsuna would **never** -

Clearing his throat, the amused elder wondered aloud, “I wouldn’t advise that, Sawada Tsunayoshi; you’ll be killed.”

Blanching momentarily, he agreed, before promptly pouting.

“Still, it’s not fair! I _guarantee_ you that that our one and only Spawn of _Satan_ was taunting poor Lambo again. Probably about the bright, Barbie pink of the new batch, and you know how Lambo is - he’s as hot-headed as Hayato! All it takes is a single, snide side-comment to trigger another fit. And since Reborn is the undisputed _king_ of stupid, sarcastic side commentary that _no-one_ asked him for, it’s is all _his_ fault that we gotta hurry today, or I’ll be late my part-time job…!”

Accustomed to being bombarded with useless information about his primary target’s daily life, Mukuro rolled his eyes at the other teen on the lotus patterned futon as he came to stand before it.

The boy pat his lap in invitation from where he sat _wariza_ , (which, as the illusionist had learnt from the boy in question was different from _seiza_ , as everything beneath the knee was bent off to it respective side in place of under him), and coaxingly called out to him again.

Needless to say, he obeyed and laid down with his head on that surprisingly firm lap, but not without grumbling first.

“This is ridiculous,” He declared in a cranky grumble yet again, cuddling into Tsunayoshi’s thighs.

And he didn’t just mean their religiously kept, but rather pointless appointments, but also that the boy had rented an apartment in one of the better parts of town for them. What’s more, instead of getting the Vongola to pay for it, he’d gotten a job at a little pizza parlour in town and was dedicatedly earning enough through that, (and secretly, small missions anonymously for various Allied Famiglias, but Tsuna didn’t know he knew that), to fill their pantry, their wardrobes, and their schedules with ever more mind-numbingly mundane, everyday amenities. How he managed to pay the utilities while slowly having added a television, satellite TV, DVDs and its respective player, and even several game consoles with a plethora of both regular, and strange, flame-based games made by the irritating, orange-haired genius he met year before the last was considered a miracle by his more naïve friends.

“Of course not!” Protested Tsuna, Q-tips at the ready. “Xanxus travelling from Russia last Saturday after a _mission_ just to demand more cookies at _gunpoint_ is ridiculous. This makes perfect sense. Besides, who else is gonna clean your ears for you?”

Mukuro sighed.

He could remind Tsunayoshi that this wasn’t actually his him, remind him that his real body was floating in a person-sized jar in Vendicare, but then the other would just get all sad and pathetic-looking. And he really didn’t want to hear him guiltily apologize for having the common sense not to have fought the Vendice for him two years ago. Although, truthfully, it was more ignorance than actual sense that had allowed them to avoid that disaster, considering Tsunayoshi’s innate compassion and penchant for self-sacrifice. Mukuro being his enemy wouldn’t have mattered one wit if he had known what awaited the older boy back then; he would have challenged the impossible to save a rebellious experiment, and those merciless monstrosities would have quite possibly ended the Vongola lineage right then and there. Thankfully, they had avoided that disaster, but instead of letting sleeping dogs lie, that is, letting Mukuro suffer for his crimes, Tsuna’s overwhelming empathy and sense of justice had him attempting to make contact with the soulless wardens holding him (and so many other hopeless deviants) captive. What’s worse, the miniscule moron was seriously perusing his **permanent** release – as if that would ever happen. There was absolutely no way the Vongola would put their heir in such jeopardy. The only intelligent decision they’d made when it came to him _was_ to leave him incarcerated. Should he escape, he fully intended to bring his plans to fruition. Maybe not immediately after, no, he wanted to lay claim to that body in other ways first, to enjoy the boy as he was now: soft, sweet, _ripe_ …And for that he’d need his trust. So he’d bide his time for now, and wait until Vongola Nono died and Sawada Tsunayoshi had no choice but to take the throne being prepared for him. The child would have the power then, and none were likely to quest him - by then they’d have all been exposed to him long enough to fall under his thrall. He’d be several times as powerful as he was now, and eons more influential. He had the knack for charming weak-minded fools, and what sect of society was more foolish than the mafia? Case in point, their proverbial prince was performing menial tasks for him and running himself into the ground for the sake of him.

But for now, for now he’d play good and enjoy the perks that came with being domesticated –or playing at it, rather.

At least he wasn’t insisting on cleaning his nose with that weird bulb that he used on the cow-child when he had the flu, the navy-haired youth drew the line there.

And as Tsuna began, Mukuro reflected that, all things considered, this wasn’t half bad.

Even if it was just playing pretend.

.

Now, kneeling at Tsunayoshi’s feet with his head pressed into the small hollow on the inner side of the curve of his jutting hipbone, Mukuro reflected that playing pretend was a common theme amongst Tsuna and his Guardians. Like now when they pretended to obey him out of fear and respect, when it was really out of the absolute adoration etched in their every movement. Never had Mukuro had the privilege to witness the lines between love and obsession blur so thoroughly, but since they were even more transparent than the one dividing right and wrong along the moral spectrum, he relished in the experience and thanked fate that he’d not been destined to join those fools in that perpetual hell.

For it was the most agonizing and final of them all.

…or so he’d heard.

It was no secret that being part of a complete Elemental set was as much a curse as a blessing, and that more often than not it was better to be alone. The sheer power a Sky could have over their Elements was terrifying enough, and Mukuro was unashamed to confess that having Nagi actually accept that burden had been the best immunization against that irresistible enchantment. She had made excellent insurance, and so he wasn’t at all concerned about his racing pulse and the spike in his temperature when the older Sky attacked his. No, Nagi’s. He was Nagi’s. Chrome’s. It was she that would suffer through the heartache. It was she that would give her life for him. It was she that would hand him the world on a silver platter if he wanted it. If she ever fell that far.

And she never would.

Not with Mukuro standing guard firmly between them. Not with his plan to seize even Tsuna’s very existence from him. He would consume him to become him. To seize his thoughts, his breaths… All he was would become Mukuro. And all that was Mukuro would become his. Unfortunately enough for him, the Illusionist’s physical form was trapped, sealed within Vendicare, never to be allowed to feel the light of day again. Cold. Silent. Distant. With only terrors for company. And the company of the various corpses around you in the same position as you for comfort. Not that would matter, after all Mukuro would have achieved what he wanted. And if he played his cards straight, he might even trick those nitwits into believing in him and serving him.

And if it was for Tsuna, they’d rip the universe apart.

So really, what was the Mafia in comparison…?

Holding fast to that promise, Mukuro buckled down as objects rattled and the walls threatened to crumble into dust. Even as his bones shook and his pulse thundered. Even as his nerves vibrated and his muscles cramped with tension. And when the elder pushed Tsunayoshi to increase the force or be crushed, both he and the five others simply grit their teeth and bore it, trusting their Sky to control himself just enough to avoid destroying them as he attempted to survive the mental brutality and prove his worth to his older, far more skilled challenger. But the test was rigorous, and if this tarried any longer, his ability to contain overwhelming energy would wane with his vitality, and when it did, if he did accidently injure any of them…

The kind-hearted fool would never forgive himself.

With the arrival of the Arcobaleno, however, Mukuro sensed that Chrome hoped that the little devil might plead with the Ninth Vongola Boss to end the battle of Wills, but Mukuro knew better. The infant would do anything to test Tsuna, to measure his growth. And what better opponent than a fully accomplished sky? A _Vongola_ Sky to be precise, and not just any of them, but the longest lasting Sky, the one called ‘Timoteo the Titan?’ The one adversary that seemed impossible for Tsuna to beat as he was now, without outright killing him and igniting what might be the worst conflict between two Vongola generations since the spat between Primo and Segundo…?

Saddest part was, Tsuna _could_.

Easily.

All it would take was a push that was just a tad too strong and-

_And that would be it._

The sun would set on the rule of Nono, and rise with Decimo.

The only problem, since Mukuro didn’t mind the obvious bloodshed that would come with such an ‘accident…?’

Unleashing Tsuna like that would likely kill everyone in this room, if not the entire estate, and if such a drastic thing didn’t unlock his sealed reservoir completely and leave him braindead, the resulting shock he would get from seeing the sheer amount of splattered gore surrounding him would surely leave him either comatose, or utterly insane. The former would have thus started an unquenchable fire that would incinerate thousands more in the neighbouring villages until the Vendice realized what had happened and stepped in. And the latter was sure to prompt him to end the world by painting it the most beautiful shade of crimson. Slaughtering everything that moved in anticipation of the moment where it all turned black and he could meet them all again either in his exhausted dreams, or in the Vongola Rings’ Hyper Space after death. Tragically, being locked in Vendice and all, he wouldn’t be able to see either anyway.

…and to think, it would have all because of one sadist’s need to _push_.

Speaking of which, as Mukuro sensed Tsuna fighting the urge the lash out at the aging Sky before the elder could snuff out his threatening potential in instinctive self-defence, all while casually conversing with the wielder of the Sun Pacifier, the collective unit he belonged to was stunned. Frozen, their eyes were fixated on a single drop of blood that had burst forth from a plush bottom lip to leave a scarlet trail down to his chin. It was so hypnotic, the vibrant colour of Sawada Tsunayoshi’s life in liquid form. So lovely, so arousing. It was the perfect shade and caught the light in such a picturesque manner. So why? Why did it make him so ill, so, _so-_

Livid…?

Indeed, white hot, blinding fury filled him, filled all of them. It wasn’t enough that his very soul had to be tested day to day, that his smiles grew dimmer in empathy, that his all-accepting heart was scourged because of its purity, but to face this unnecessary turmoil simply because he cared **just** like they had wanted him to? Needed him to? Unforgivable. Madness sparked within their barely assimilating consciousness –the results of the devil’s own training and conditioning. The Sun’s radiance flickered in ire, the Cloud darken even further, the Storm brewed, Rain wishing to burst forth and cleanse the space of the assembled filth. The summoned Lightening flashed threateningly as the Mists gathered their cruel imagination together prepared to create sheer devastation. Energies reaching forth and uniting at their fringes –the best they could do with their current level of power, but prodigious in comparison to the average age of unification- they were naught but an angered titan. Potential roused in wrath it boiled, it raged, and finally, in a flicker, from one moment to the next, coalesced with that of his fellow facets to form a **force**. Intensifying, about to bubble over-

-when a small hand, in a soft, woollen mitten, so at odds with the other that was held out in front of his Sky to aid his concentration, in its titanium-armoured glove, caressed the carefully styled top of Mukuro head. Those tender, calming strokes took all the fight out of him, and the minor fluctuation of the gushing inferno as that one hand reverted to its gentler form, drew the attention of the others and silenced their ire.

None of them ever even realized that Nono, too, had attempted to stop them from starting a scandal right then and there, or that Reborn had interceded for them himself seconds before that.

Still restricting the pulsing power pouring from him Tsuna gently stemmed the flow instead of stopping abruptly. Somewhat dizzy, and somewhat drunk on the symbiotic connection with his guardians that he’d entered when they took off for Italy, Tsuna took a quiet moment to struggle back into the role of Decimo. Senses closed off, and mind settling after the battering it took, a voice from long ago, and deep within one of his most prized possessions warned him, echoing and recommending his instincts.

_‘Be unshakeable, Tsuna - steadfast. You **know** what you must do.’_

It was odd for Mukuro to catch thoughts from Tsuna’s side of the link at random, but he rapidly understood that it was Vongola Primo again communicating with his successor and forgetting that he was there on the other side, rather than a slip on the part of Tsuna. But perhaps, it was no mistake on any front, and Primo was simply untroubled by him overhearing.

Naïve as ever, that one.

Would Tsuna grow out of it like the Young Lion he wondered? Or remain optimistic like the Great Sky? Only time would tell he supposed…

Meanwhile, usually chocolate brown eyes opened slowly, revealing glowing gold, as all around, people gathered themselves. Some had tumbled from their seats or ducked for cover, others were paralyzed with fear, but in whatever state of disarray, they now sought their composure.

Finally, Nono gave the sign:

“As you wish, Vongola Decimo.”

There was a pregnant, expectant silence as Tsuna turned to face the assembled Dons of the Vongola Alliance. Many petrified, others seemingly apathetic and unafraid, but apprehensive, and others yet alive with awe.

This child, what a perplexing contradiction…

Mukuro could understand their unease; to see such magnificent power in the hands of one so young – his temperament was nothing short of a miracle.

His voice, when he spoke, was soft. Its gentle, rhythmic tone lulling, enrapturing, beguiling-

Dangerous.

But the ignorant or over-confident fools scattered around them amongst the wise didn’t understand the inherent threat.

Hopefully, for the sake of his own, much more nefarious purpose, they never would; it would make it all the easier to manipulate them with a honeyed tongue and tender hands.

As he was scheming, Tsuna was, as Xanxus would put it, “preaching.”

“The Mafia was founded by families to _protect_ one another, to _help_ one another, to _cherish_ one another. Generation after generation of families continued it, long after it was explicitly needed, first out of _love_ , then out of _tradition_. And soon, the tradition of love itself, and brotherhood between dons, between _families_ , gave way to _Famiglia_ surviving solely to continue mysterious, materialistic _Tradition_. The love had _died_.” Thus, after his greetings, Tsuna began what would later be remembered as the monologue that began his eternal reign. “That awful, new tradition dictates that I am not supposed to use any of a Sky’s special gifts on you. After all, it’s unnecessary considering that you’re supposed to obey me out of fear of my anger, even as you thirst for my favour which, apparently, is to remain ambiguously ever out of any and every one of your reaches. Tradition dictates that these most obvious facts themselves should not be said, that they should remain unspoken but understood. That I should remain, in the inverse, much spoken of, in awe and terror, and yet never understood. I should become a shadow. Ironic really, since, as the Vongola Sky, I’m also supposed to become the star of your world, with a radiance that eclipses all. I should become an ever impending storm just beyond the horizon to keep you all in check, and yet I should become a soothing drizzle that quiets your arguments. I should be the spark that electrifies and shares your human passions, and yet the solitary wisp that floats above your simple-minded avaricious that stems from your intrinsically flawed search for something to surpass your lifetime, a lineage that defeats the damnation that awaits you at the end of your mortality. And finally, as the transient haze, I myself am supposed to fade out with the dawn of a new Vongola Don. But this too is untrue. Isn’t it?”

His eyes pierced the assembly, and many averted theirs so as not to meet that frighteningly intuitive gaze. Others sneered in defiance, refusing to admit to any weakness.

“In a riddling contradiction, you have come to damn those very foundational traditions. You _fear_ the ambiguity, the insecurity of the mist, the rise of a new regime, the beginning of a brand new day that washes the sins of the past away, and may very well scorn the idea of repeating the old mistakes that yesterday accepted.”

His eyes flickered back to his predecessor for an instance, but it was enough for Coyote’s own orbs to narrow into a laser-like glower. Unmoved, he didn’t bat an eyelash, and Timoteo restrained a laugh, eyes closing in silent amusement at his ever-overprotective Storm. It wasn’t as if Tsunayoshi was wrong. He had erred, and often at that, and his mistakes were not ones that his successor could repeat if they were aiming to leave the gritty, grime-ridden world of crime behind. Indeed, the task before the younger was monumental, and was only minutely easier due to the efforts of the last two Vongola Dons. Still, it was a comparatively small, practically insignificant amount when considering the _other_ burden Primo himself had given Tsuna. The boy had every right to be brutally honest and unbiased with others in these times, Lord knows he was far harsher on himself. As he should be, less he lose himself.

“In your self-centred hypocrisy,” Decimo observed lowly, “your heartless newly enshrined tradition had you abandon Mukuro and his comrades to their fates, and now you wish to leave him to rot in a jar in the depths of Vendicare because you think he’s too dangerous…?” Drawing a deep breath as his outrage reached the peak of its crescendo, said adolescent continued, “Fools, you’re just a bunch of cowardly herbivores masquerading as carnivores in this dog eat dog world **you’ve** created. You clearly don’t actually understand what’s actually dangerous. Quite frankly, it would be _sad_ if it wasn’t so **_pathetic_**.”

There were several indignant gasps at this, mostly from the various Famiglia Heads who didn’t understand the incoming, implicit implication, the pending other shoe waiting to drop.

“How dare you, you mongrel!” spat one.

“Yes, you are nothing but a mix breed mutt chosen out of desperation by a dying regime!” accused another.

“Who are you to judge us!?!” decried yet a third imbecile.

“…Who am I?” At that, Tsuna began to laugh. It started out low, then his cackling started to grow. Soon, the maniacal chuckling rivalled both Mukuro himself and the Skylark at their finest.

At last he replied: “Long ago, a boy with very little to no material wealth met six very different individuals. Wagering his very soul, his cursed his bloodline to ever there after protect the defenceless – no matter the personal cost. Out of selfishness, lust for power, and a heart-wrenching emptiness of the things most significant to the soul, his estranged half-brother and a wounded friend that had lost his way set out to steal the sacred gift entrusted to Primo for the sake of the vulnerable. The corruption, the greed, the sin…it would only grow and grow Giotto knew, but he didn’t have the strength, the Will, to hurt those so dear to him. In his selfish but oh so comprehensible humanity, the poor man fled from his conflictions and responsibilities, entrusting it all to his descendants in the future. So now I, Sawada Tsunayoshi, great, great grandson of Sawada Ieyasu, also known as Giotto Taru Del Vongola, the legendary founder of this Family: Vongola Primo, have returned bearing his Will. I will succeed him, cease this cycle and continue what he began. When you ask me who I am, I can only answer that I am your reckoning, the Angel of the Apocalypse assigned especially to the Mafia: prepare yourself for the revival of the original order.”

Silence pervaded, as they processed his retort, and one by one

“Reborn…” Tsuna summoned briskly, not averting his eyes from the distressed crowd.

“Yes, Decimo?” He replied with a proud twinkle in his amused eyes.

“Can you please retrieve Fuuta?”

That gave Mukuro pause.

What?

But he had seen, in Tsunayoshi memories that is, that-

Heard him say that he wouldn’t-

Heard Tsunayoshi **promise** that he would _never_ -

_“He begged to come and help, Mukuro-sama,”_ Nagi’s calm voice cut through the borderline panic building in his mind. _“Bossu wanted to refuse, but since I-Pin-chan was visiting with Hibari’s sister for tea and later, dinner, and Mama-san went with her to meet her ‘future in-laws,’ Fuuta-chan would have been home alone what with us needing Lambo-chan to present a united front, and Reborn-san as an escort. Bossu had Cloud-san post Kusakabe-san and a few others around the perimeter of the residence just in case, but felt it would be okay so long as he didn’t leave…_ temptation _within the house.”_

At that, there was no further need for explanation -even though it soothed and reassured him, bless his Chrome; all the rest could have been left out in favour of that.

Tsunayoshi’s world renowned Vongola Hyper Intuition was supernaturally incapable of err, even if it’s still growing leader was, but with the experience the unfortunate sacrificial lamb had received at torture’s knee the last year, Mukuro would bet his soul on it.

He wondered what class of fool was observing the already infamous Vongola Decimo’s residence while they were here, and what’s more, what class of fool _would_ dare attempt something…

There were many a shady and inquisitive person that had the gall to spy on his Sky –Nagi’s Sky, too many too count as a matter of fact, and so many lived or had connections to Namimori that it was no surprise that the people there were so immune to the obviously strange happenings that occurred around that all the time. To start with, there were the pathetic remnants of the Momokyokai, the Hibari’s and therefore the Triads, The Giglio Nero and their Boss’ Arcobaleno and therefore _their_ various _other_ affiliations, the Ninth Vongola Boss’ Cervello…and those were the one they could name immediately! Then there were _at the very least_ a sole spy for each Famiglia of the Vongola Alliance, _double_ of the same for neutral or hopeful Dons’ that desired to join the alliance under the up-coming reign, and _triple_ of those for enemy Famiglia not part of the élite Alliance. Finally, of the obvious were the help: Vongola or Vongola Alliance henchmen, and hitmen and hitwomen intent on protecting and/or moulding Decimo and his Guardians, freelance hitmen and hitwomen hoping to meet Decimo and get in his good graces, enemy hitmen determined to end Decimo and attain infamy. It was the unknown, hidden few that bothered him, and _those_ were- but the Arcobaleno’s high voice interrupted his musings.

“As you wish, Decimo,” he acquiesced with a respectful nod, before hopping off to gather the child.

Murmurs began to emerge from the uneasy crowd as they postulated. Were the rumours really true? Did the future Vongola Decimo really possess Ranking Fuuta…?

Apparently, he did, for in the next moment, the double doors of the meeting room opened and in strolled a boy, brunet, looking to be around twelve years old with that height, but known to be only ten. With an easily recognizable scarf, his trademark, framing the folded top of his beige turtleneck sweater, and the tails dancing above the tan belt holding up his tailored khaki shorts, with every step taken by his crème-coloured loafer-clad feet, there was not misunderstanding who he was. His well-known stealth was another indicator, as he made no sound as he was admitted into the circle of desks and recliner-type seats, crossed to the centre where Decimo stood. Mukuro pulled away and stood, joining the ranks at the Rain’s side. It was just to allow the other to greet his big brother properly, knowing that to stay clinging would only bring him uncomfortably close to the pawn he’d once possessed.

Bowing at the waist with his right hand over his heart, Fuuta de Stella sank to his left knee.

Tsunayoshi offered him his own right hand, just as tradition dictated, and the child took the only slightly larger hand into both of his and pressed a devout kiss to his saviour’s ring.

“How may I serve you, Decimo?” He inquired respectfully.

Tsunayoshi laughed jovially, and the light, cheerful sound of delight startled the crowd as it resonated, raising to the destroyed skylight. On the edge of the nearly empty other frame, Hibird sat, and at the familiar tinkling echo, chirped back and flew down to rest itself yet again atop one of his favourite persons’ head. The teen blinked in acknowledgement, petting the yellow ball of fluff in absentminded affection with his left hand as its other favourite human leered possessively at the view of his pet and his targeted mate. With the hand cupped in Fuuta’s own, Tsuna caressing the contours of that soon to be maturing face gently, the unconditional love in his eyes stealing the breaths of many in the room.

They knew that he’d be like this; they knew that their Angel of the Apocalypse was still an angel at heart.

Others sneered, jealously and ignorance at the source of their scorn for the image.

Unfazed, Tsuna continued to stroke the boy’s jaw and then tipped his chin playfully before pecking his forehead tenderly.

“This is my little brother, Fuuta,” He murmured, drawing the prepubescent up to his feet and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “He has some information to share with you.”

And then, in a move that would go down in history, the overprotective Ranking Prince glowered darkly at them for nearly a full minute before announcing that that day, he had four lists to present to Vongola Nono any time his ‘Tsuna-Nii’ wished.

They were as follows:

  1. The list of top ten dons of the Vongola Alliance most likely to betray it of its Head and which enemy they were most likely to do so with.
  2. The list of top ten Famiglia members with the member families of the Vongola Alliance most likely to betray their respective families to the Alliance and why.
  3. The list of top ten most nefarious plots currently being masterminded to upset the balance of the Alliance.
  4. The list of top ten most insulting things the Dons of the Vongola Alliance have said about Timoteo de Vongola.



There was horrified, chokingly tense silence for a few long, painful moments as they all, _finally_ , realized strength of the combined force they were up against.

At the head of the gathering, Timoteo erupted with laughter, blessing his successor with all his heart and soul – now _this_ was interesting!

“See?” The coo was revoltingly sweet and chipper even as the boisterous cackles of the current Capo di tutti capi laughed himself half to death. “You were worrying about _Mukuro_ , but it’s me and my ruthless streak you should really be afraid of…” Tsuna smiled in a twisted fashion, sadness and satisfaction warring in the depths of his eyes. Just then, thick grey clouds passed over Vongola HQ and blocked the natural illumination shining down from the massive skylight. Without artificial lighting, all was as if it were night, and a pair of glowing amber orbs stood out like a beacon. The gleam of unshakable resolve making them all shudder as a bone-deep chill filled them. “You have until sundown to agree to Mukuro’s release and negotiate the details and terms so that I will be given leave to contact the Vendice. One minute after sundown, I will return to work out a deal for your signed consent, or for your heads –your choice.”

The daylight returned a minute later, but by then the Tenth Vongola Generation had already silently vanished from the room.

.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah...Idk, either. Sorry, SkyGem. I love you and your work, and though this is shit, it's been sitting on my flash for too long. I figured I should send it your way BEFORE you turn eighty. lol Also, I heard that the best way to get this done was just to do it, so I'm posting this casually. I've got a few chapters already done but if no-one cares it'll be up to SkyGem if I continue this crap or not. I'm forcing myself to stop fussing about, well, everything, and just post en masse, but I'll probably chicken out half way. No promises.


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